


Blood and Bone

by goodwineandcheese



Category: Monster
Genre: Canon Compliant, Concerned Friend Tenma, Gen, Implied Tenma/Gillen, Lunge Having Emotions, Lunge is scary, Post-Canon, Revenge, Suk is competent and Dad Lunge is proud, Torture, mild suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodwineandcheese/pseuds/goodwineandcheese
Summary: Lunge is brought to the ER alongside a battered but stable Jan Suk. Though the events surrounding Johan are well in the past, Tenma knows something's going on. He never expected it to be this.
Relationships: Wolfgang Grimmer/Heinrich Lunge
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Blood and Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a request fic! The premise was simply "one of the people responsible for killing Grimmer is still alive and Lunge finds them" and this is where we ended up. There's some squicky violent torture but at least it's not happening to characters we care about!

The rain was at least letting up when reinforcements finally arrived. It was far too late by then to spare the carnage that befell the once quiet town, and the presence of armed officers only seemed to make the locals even more anxious. Still, the officers got to work as best they could. Paramedics were rushed in shortly after, taking to the morbid task of collecting the bodies that littered the streets.

“It’s hard to imagine all this happened in one day.”

Conversation pierced the silence, at least partly welcome as the three men lifted another body onto a stretcher. There were still so many to go, and so few of them to get the work done. The government had vastly understaffed the operation, but that wasn’t anything new.

“Not like it happened overnight. These people trickled in with their guns, spread them all around...like a disease.”

They lifted the body onto the stretcher, one man standing and wiping a brow as he looked to the next fellow. He was a right bit worse off than the other victims - bloodied and purple, as though he’d been struck repeatedly with a steel pole. The man scrunched his face, gesturing for the other two to give him a hand.

“Doesn’t make it any more believable. And that Tenma’s been hiding out here...doesn’t it seem a bit-”

The man stopped, his face suddenly turning pale as he crouched over the prone figure, his mouth hanging open. He felt a clap on his shoulder from one of the other two and flinched.

“There something wrong, Karl? Do you need to take a minute?”

He looked up slowly toward his colleagues, startled terror in his eyes.

“This….this one’s still alive. He’s still _alive._ ”

* * *

It was never calm, nor relaxed, when an emergency patient was brought in. There was always a heart-rending story - the family that was counting on Herr Doktor Tenma to save the patient, the fear of making a mistake at the operating table. Though his hands remained steady, he was a bundle of nerves until the procedure was completed. That was all standard, the “normal” where emergency calls were concerned.

This was not a normal situation.

He’d woken to the steady beeping of his pager, delirious but aware enough to understand what it meant. He tried not to disturb Rudi, but it was an inevitability as he slipped off to work in the dead of night. He was met, as usual, by a team of physicians and nurses, briefing him on the way to the operating room. Two victims - one critical, one stable. They were short staffed, required a skilled surgeon if the victim was going to make it. This _wasn’t_ a head injury; it wasn’t his area of expertise, but with the hospital’s chief of surgery attending a conference out of the country, Tenma was the closest doctor they could call in who had the necessary skill and experience.

He wasn’t bothered of course; if he could save a life, he would do everything in his power to ensure it happened. What shocked him, what made his heart sink down into the soles of his shoes, was what he encountered inside the operating room.

His patient, as it happened, was none other than Heinrich Lunge of the BKA. And the “stable” patient was the young detective of Prague, Jan Suk.

Tenma had been briefed on the situation - a clean gunshot injury, multiple stab wounds, broken ribs, internal bleeding. It wasn’t a complex operation, but he needed immediate treatment. Tenma wasn’t worried; there was no question that Lunge would survive. What bothered him was that this had happened in the first place. For Lunge to look like this…and with Suk being here, too...

_Just what did you get yourself into…?_

* * *

Alive. Heinrich was alive. Somehow, he had survived the ordeal. 

He remembered it in flashes; moments of awareness - when he’d let his guard down, the sound of someone shouting. His name...the voice of someone familiar. Suk...Jan Suk...

It was only because of Jan that he was alive now. 

Heinrich had been reckless, had let his emotions get the better of him. That was still something he had to get used to; in the past, he had been adept at shutting them out. His brain was a computer; his emotions were stored in a compartment that could be shut off. Often he left it that way; the use of emotions required power. It was a waste, when he could put that energy toward logical thought, to effectively solve his cases.

Since Ruehenheim, it seemed he’d lost that capability. The switch was gone. They would not shut off. 

Perhaps it had been unwise to isolate himself from feeling all those years; where others had the capacity to coexist with theirs, his were strange; he was trying to adapt in months to what most learned to cope with over a lifetime. So when they grew, when they became too much for him, he acted rashly. It was that rashness that nearly cost him his reputation, his career, and his life. 

He heard footsteps, and the thud of the door closing. Someone was coming to check on him now - one of the nurses, perhaps the woman from before. He turned his head to glance her way but paused, momentarily taken by surprise, though it showed only in a slight quirk of his brows as he locked eyes with the _man_ who was now seating himself by his bedside.

To think, he found himself in the care of Doctor Tenma. That _this_ was how they would be reunited, after so long. No...he shouldn’t be surprised. It was bound to be this way.

“Doctor Tenma.”

He greeted the man calmly. The doctor himself looked distressed, though in a subtle way; he kept his emotions guarded, but even then the doctor was never very good at keeping them hidden. He had shown that repeatedly to be the case. His was an open heart. 

The man sighed, closing his eyes as he heaved a low exhale that deflated his weary shoulders. 

“You’re lucky to be alive right now, you know. Had you been brought to the hospital any later, I don’t know how much could be done. You lost a lot of blood. I don’t know what happened, but-”

“Suk.”

It was impolite to interrupt the doctor, particularly as - presumably - the man just saved Heinrich’s life. But the wellbeing of the senior detective came before any lecture about his health. Tenma looked only a little surprised by the interjection, but his gaze quickly fell, a look of resigned acceptance in his eyes.

“He wasn’t badly injured. He’ll recover in a month or so, though I imagine that the psychological damage will take more than that to heal. He’s been extremely anxious to see you. But when I asked him what happened, he wouldn’t say a word.”

The tone of his voice held a silent understanding and a question that went unanswered for now. Heinrich closed his eyes, finally turning to look up toward the doctor after a short time, though his expression remained stolid. Tenma was looking down, gazing at his hands now.

“The injuries you sustained were extremely severe. You won’t be out of bed much for a few weeks; not until your muscle tissue can heal. You’re lucky the bullet passed through cleanly. More worrisome are the multiple stab wounds, the internal bleeding...and from the look of it, they had every intent to kill.”

The look on his face was undoubtedly accusatory. He saw Lunge’s state and Suk’s silence as a sign that something had happened, something they hoped to keep secret. The doctor lowered his voice, balling his hands into fists.

“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me. The fact that it’s you… _both_ of you…” He trailed off, eyes flicking to the door, then back to Lunge. “I want to know what’s going on.”

It was a request, more than a demand. One spoken quietly - not to be overheard. Tenma was not a fool; for two key faces in the Johan case to turn up wounded, one to a near lethal degree, he understood there could be no coincidence. And that he spoke so quietly indicated an understanding that perhaps what had come about was not in line with the law. An astute hunch.

Heinrich had the option to lie; he could easily claim that his quarry in a recent case had got the best of him, that he had called for backup. Claimed that it was a co-operative operation between the Prague police force and the BKA hunting a dangerous terrorist that had crossed the border. That would be the logical answer to give the doctor, but he did not.

Empathy dictated that the doctor had the right to know the truth. Emotions were troublesome things, when they refused to be ignored. 

Heinrich glanced toward the door, then back to Tenma. 

“It was a case. I found him through a case.”

* * *

“This is the list. We’ve narrowed down a possible eight suspects, just going by what we know. A lot of repeat offenders on there. From what you deduced it’s gotta be three or four of these guys working together, right? So if we can find out where they all are…”

“I understand. Leave their files with me. Find out what you can about our suspects and their recent activity.”

In the past, Heinrich would have taken to task all on his own, without the aid of his colleagues. But now, work was delegated among his colleagues, so as not to push himself unnecessarily. He was trying to do better this time, to improve. If Ruehenheim had taught him anything, it was of the limited time life afforded; to spend it all on work was a waste. He had been forcing himself of late to keep a regular schedule; a coffee in the morning at ten, lunch at noon - except on thursdays, when he allowed flex in his schedule to have lunch with his daughter. He kept in touch with her more frequently now - email messaging, as it had been suggested. He had Ms. Heinemann to thank for that.

Heinrich took a look at the spread of files that had been handed to him. Eight men, eight suspects in this most recent case. These were violent cases of breaking and entering, exclusively targeting high-profile individuals. The killings were precise - muder at a long range. Often from the window in the building across the street. Large sums were taken from the homes and, presumably, distributed among the perpetrators. Truly, the lowest form of crime.

Heinrich flipped through each profile, memorizing the information they had on record. The data was inputted into his brain, detail by meticulous detail. Many of these men were violent criminals; he could easily perceive each of them as the culprits, but only time and a confession would reveal the truth. And until then, he…

He...

When he reached the last of the files, Heinrich found himself stopping, all thoughts grinding to a halt. He could do nothing but stare. This individual...

What he was looking at was surely a ghost.

The name printed on the file was Peter Schwarz. He had a history as a hired gun, a skilled sniper who had been dishonourably discharged from the military eight years prior after an altercation that cost ten lives.

But these were not the details that caught his attention. Even as he read, Heinrich did not start typing, did not enter that data into his hard drive. The detail that roiled inside his mind was the image of the man’s face, a face he had seen before. A face he saw in Ruehenheim. 

His memory was hazy; at the time he had been in and out of consciousness, delirious from his own severe injuries. To his left was Johan - an ethereal and mesmerizing individual, one whose presence had caused a chill even in the BKA detective. Then, there had been a scuffle - paramedics talking in hurried voices as another man was brought in and lain to Heinrich’s right.

Unlike Johan, this man was in horrific shape; he was beaten and bloody, skin purpled and black in places. There were lacerations across his arms and legs, and his clothes were soaked red, but he seemed still to be alive. Even so, the worried voices of the paramedics had reached his ear; the man probably would not survive.

It was only after his own recovery that Heinrich learned that the man had been instrumental to the death of Wolfgang Grimmer.

Grimmer…

He had heard the account from Tenma. It didn’t surprise him to imagine that the death of such a man might bring even Franz Bonaparta to his knees in sorrow. Such a death was needless and cruel; he had struggled to find his heart, had fought so long for it, only to pass away overcome with grief.

And now...one of the men who...

“...You...uh...all right, sir?”

Heinrich blinked, slowly coming back to himself, to his office, to the young man standing across from him. He glanced down, at the newly creased and partly crushed folder held in his hand. Slowly, he set it down.

“Under the weather, that’s all.”

An easy lie, and the young detective bought it. Or at least he was smart enough not to question it. He nodded, swallowing thickly as he held out a stack of papers.

“This...I mean it can wait. It’s just transcribed phone records and other logs we dug up on the suspects…the ones we could get anything from, anyway. I was told to take it to you but if you’re busy right now…”

Heinrich reached out to take the records, nodding to the junior detective.

“Thank you. I’ll look at them all the same.”

He spoke more kindly with his colleagues now. It seemed to improve their productivity and behaviour in the workplace. Heinrich, though, had no intention to look at those records for the time being. His focus now was entirely on Schwarz.

* * *

The look on Tenma’s face was a mirror to the BKA detective's own shock when he had first seen the photograph. There was pain in those eyes, the kind that came with the revival of old wounds. Tenma too had considered Grimmer a friend.

“So he was alive…”

The sound of his voice was disbelieving, and rattled in his throat. Perhaps it was more personal for him; he had witnessed the precise moment of his friend’s death. To know that Grimmer’s killer - an individual that had partaken in the bloodbath of Ruehenheim as a whole - was still alive could be no easy fact to absorb.

He looked back up to Heinrich, his eyes tired now, more so than before. But there was dread there too. And a question, one that need not be spoken. Heinrich understood it well enough. 

“No.”

Tenma seemed confused by the sudden utterance, but then he knew very little of how plainly he wore his emotions and his thoughts. To someone like Heinrich, it was easy to decipher.

“You were wondering if I killed Schwarz.” he continued quietly. “I did not.”

Tenma’s shoulders relaxed from their brief tense hold and he nodded, quick to believe Heinrich. It was the truth, but perhaps killing would have been the better path. At the very least he wouldn’t be in this situation, had he chosen to end that man’s life. Tenma shook his head, still frustrated. Still worried. 

“That doesn’t answer what happened to you. To Suk. How was he involved? Lunge...just what did you do?”

Heinrich was quiet for a time. He said nothing, wouldn’t meet Tenma’s eyes. He stared up at the ceiling, at the pebbled pale white surface, tracing it with his eyes. That was easier than looking at the doctor. 

“I hunted him.” he answered, his voice lower than before, both still wholly aware of the door, listening for footsteps, for eavesdroppers. “And then I….”

Heinrich trailed off. He raised a hand, looking at it with a distant sort of intensity before he balled it into a fist.

“I made him understand.”

* * *

Rain pattered heavily against his umbrella as Heinrich made his way between rows and rows of grave markers. Damp with rain, they glistened in the evening’s fading light, what little showed amidst the clouds. There were no mourners here, none save for himself. 

He came to a stop in front of Grimmer’s resting place. There were fresh flowers, though he couldn’t say who had left them. Even now he was visited by many. For a man who insisted he was non-existent, he had made a lasting impact on the lives of countless individuals.

Heinrich lowered his umbrella, letting it sit against the weathered stone. The rain that fell was refreshing, cool against his face, as it absorbed into his clothes. He reached out, placing a hand against that cold stone structure. He closed his eyes, taking his head into a bow. For a while, he stayed quiet, simply absorbing the rain, the grip of the stone, the damp smell of the place.

“I’m going to let you rest, now.”

…

What followed was the nearest thing to a manhunt since his unending chase of Kenzo Tenma. The feel of it, though, was significantly different; in his hunt for the doctor, he sought to regain his wounded pride, to prove to himself and the world that his perfect reputation had not been marred. It was immature, looking back. But this - the situation he found himself in now, as he set eyes on his prey - was not a battle for pride. At least, not for his. A violent bubble of emotion had him gripped in its hold, begging for the taste of blood.

Faced with Schwarz, he would have to take great care. He was still a man of the law, after all.

There was no suspicion as he took interest in all information pertaining to Schwarz; to his colleagues, he was simply attempting to thoroughly investigate one of their suspects to prove or disprove his involvement in the case. It allowed him to work transparently even among them.

From what he had managed to dig up, it seemed that Schwarz had spent quite a bit of time in Prague, but disappeared six months ago. Exactly what he had been doing in Prague was unclear, but it warranted contacting the Prague police for information. If there was anything they could share, anything to help consolidate his current base of data, it would make tracking Schwarz down all the smoother.

How long had it been, since his last visit? Prague had changed. The police department had changed. And so had that detective boy.

“I’m going to be honest, when the chief told me there was someone waiting to see me...I really wasn’t expecting this.”

Jan was older now. He looked it. In the past, he had been little more than a child trying to fit the shoes he desperately wanted to fill. Now, he seemed a respectable cop. Heinrich nodded curtly, dropping his folder onto the desk between the two of them.

“I’ll skip the pleasantries, detective. I’ve come to collaborate on a case. Sources indicate that this man, until six months ago, was living in Prague. He’s an important suspect in a case I am investigating. I wondered if you might have any further information. I believe it would benefit us both to compare notes.”

Heinrich kept to the superficial story for now. He had no doubt that Jan would want to know the true identity of Schwarz, but he had no intention of involving the young officer. He couldn’t guarantee the other man’s safety, but more significantly, there was no knowing just what might happen, when Heinrich finally captured his quarry.

Jan took a look at the file, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m not looking after the Schwarz case, but I can probably pull the files for you if that would help...what I can say off the top of my head is that he wasn’t alone? We’ve got him pegged for a series of break-ins, and there was always a second person on the scene. Maybe not the same person, either. Witness testimonies were pretty varied; we have something like four individual profiles based on their descriptions. He’s the only one that’s constant.”

If that was the case, the probability that Schwarz had three - or more, it seemed - accomplices in his own case was far greater, all but validated. He started tapping slowly, making note of Jan’s recollection. Without looking he could feel Jan’s fascination; even now, he took to observing Heinrich with an almost childlike wonder.

“How long would it take you to compile the information for me?”

Jan leaned back, doing a little mental math as he tapped the desk.

“In between everything else...maybe a day. If you can wait until tomorrow I’ll have it to you for sure. In the meantime, I-”

“Tomorrow suits me well enough.”

Heinrich didn’t have much of a mind for idle chatter. There was more he could do while he was here. Still, he allowed himself to exercise politeness; Jan was a friend, after all. He turned in the doorway.

“Thank you, detective.”

It was more than his usual courtesy, and Jan took it well enough. Satisfied, Heinrich headed back out through the door. So long as he was here, he might as well visit Schwarz’ last known locations, discuss with the locals. Six months wasn’t long. Someone was bound to remember.

…

What he learned wasn’t much; at least not on the surface. Indeed, the locals could attest to Schwarz’ presence, but there was no indication of where it was he was going, nor what goal he and his “group” might have had. There was, though, a sense of dread; not one of them might have pegged the man for a killer. It was only to their luck that he seemed not to be involved in any sort of case like Ruehenheim. 

What was valuable, though, was what their testimonies spoke toward; commonalities between his case and those documented by agent Suk. It gave him a pattern - and from there he could predict where his target would strike next. The wealthy upper-class, the well-to-do of the world. Easy targets for such a low-brow crime.

It seemed like Schwarz was down on his luck; the jobs he was taking were insignificant; certainly lacking in the prestige of associating oneself with Roberto and his men. No doubt he failed to fully recover, after Grimmer beat him to a bloody pulp. He could imagine what the cost for restorative surgery must have been.

In a way Heinrich was glad the man was alive. Through Schwarz, he could glean at least some form of catharsis.

Finding out where Schwarz was staying now wasn’t difficult work; he knew the man’s face, and thanks to Suk’s file he had a recent photograph as reference. Days of tracking led him to Dusseldorf, and from there he needed only ask around. Schwarz himself was staying at a cheap hotel, waiting to make his move, entirely unaware of the predator that stalked him from the shadows.

Heinrich waited until the late evening hours before he started on the prowl. Schwarz was active most at night, leaving his hotel at odd hours and returning early. It was a pattern Heinrich observed for a short while, watching his prey. And, sure enough, this particular night he could see the man; from the driver's view of his car, he watched a despicably familiar shape leave the hotel’s front doors and head toward the parking lot. He was walking toward one of the cars; stolen, he had checked the owner of the vehicle's license plate and it certainly didn't belong to Schwarz.

Tonight, he would not be allowed to leave the lot.

Heinrich turned the ignition. There was little time for the man to respond as a car sped forward - though, not fast enough to be lethal. Heinrich was precise, quick to put on the brakes and make a slight turn. Peter Schwarz took an indirect hit, his leg crunching beneath Heinrich’s front tires.

He stepped out of his car, looking down on the man. Though his injury certainly wouldn’t kill, he was badly wounded and left in shock. Easy enough to transport. 

* * *

When Peter awoke, it was to burning pain in his leg and a searing headache. That, and an inability to move.

He didn’t notice right away. He was groggy, barely aware of his surroundings - all he knew was that his head felt like it had been impaled and his leg was definitely broken. _Everything_ hurt. But that? That was the least of his problems.

He hadn't even realized until he tried to move. Tried to reach up to rub his face and his limbs refused to work. That was when he noticed something wasn’t right. Awareness seeped back to him slowly. Where he was now...he couldn’t tell. It was dark, damp and cold. There was light somewhere in the distance, but not enough to identify where he might be. He could make out vague shapes - walls, it looked like walls and some sort of tall steel drums. Garage maybe. Warehouse. Not where he was supposed to be.

Next he noticed that he was sitting completely upright. There was some sort of rope around him and he was in...a chair. Trying again to move his arms was useless; there wasn’t any give, no way that he could wriggle his wrists free. Whoever got to him knew what they were doing. Knew better than to give him any room to struggle.

The only question left was who had him and why.

Peter had enough enemies, that wasn’t the problem. He needed to know _which_ enemy it was. This situation could be better or worse, all depending on just who it was that got him caught. He’d crossed a few people - double crossed them - and knew they’d have his head if they found him. Dying wasn’t ideal. But there were others...unfinished jobs he’d ducked out of, disappeared when better opportunities arose. Deals he hadn’t paid up on because he just didn’t have that kind of money. If it was one of them then maybe there could be a way out. He could _reason_ with people. As long as he played his cards right. He didn’t have much of a hand, but even in this situation…

First, though, he had to wait for them to show their face.

Slowly his eyes adjusted to the dark. He could be almost sure now this was a warehouse. It had an old smell, like the place was out of use. It gave him a few ideas to where he might be now; he knew his way around, had to know his hideouts and escapes. He could narrow down just where he was right now.

And so could _they._

His buddies were waiting. If he didn’t show, there weren't a whole lot of places he could be. It wouldn't take them long to find him. All he had to do was stall.

But it didn’t help not knowing how long he’d been here...

There was no one around. He couldn’t see anyone, even when his eyes adjusted to the light. Couldn’t hear them, either. That was something he was good at - had to be, in his line of work. Even closing his eyes he couldn’t hear anyone. Which meant they were probably...trying to make him tense. It was something psychological. They were playing games. 

He relaxed, letting himself breathe through the seconds. Even if he didn’t know how long it had been, he could track the time now. There was just enough light coming through that he could get a general idea of where the sun was moving - enough to estimate what-

There was a loud creak, followed by a blindingly bright light. It had come so out of nowhere, so unexpectedly, he couldn’t help but let out a strangled yelp of surprise, squinting his eyes shut, but it still burned his retinas. He could see the shadow images of white light seared at the back of his eyelids. Whoever this was...they weren’t playing. Whatever they wanted, they were going to try to pry it from him right out of the gate.

“Peter Schwarz…that’s your name. You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble over the last year.”

The voice was deep. He couldn’t pinpoint it, didn’t recognize it. And he wasn’t about to open his eyes again so long as his captor...or captors…had that light trained on him. But neither was he planning on answering. 

He heard the scrape of something, then footsteps. And without warning that person had grabbed him by the jaw, jerking him forward with a severe grip. He felt a pop somewhere in his upper back from the sheer force. Something was misaligned.

“You should probably consider your situation a little, right now. When I address you, I’d like to be answered. I'm not someone whose patience should be tested.”

Peter still gave no response, still didn’t bother to open his eyes. He’d been intimidated before. He’d been shot at before. Hell, he’d been beaten within an inch of his life; nothing, _nothing_ was more terrifying than that. The face that man had made, the _sound_ he made when Peter shot the girl, then when he went into a blind rage. Bullets hadn’t seemed to have any effect on that creature; he’d simply shrugged them off, adrenaline powering him forward through anything.

Peter was the only one who lived. He took a certain pride in it, surviving that monster. He smirked, his eyes still closed, a chuckle leaving his lips.

“I've met a real monster, you know. It almost killed me. You’re not very scary, compared to him.”

He spoke around the hand gripping his jaw, managing a smirk despite himself. There was a silent pause, at which point he felt as his face was released, the man uttering a low chuckle. Peter could hear sounds - not well enough to know what they were; quiet rustles and scrapes, nondescript noises that told him nothing.

"No...I suppose I'm not. I don't think I could be quite as frightening as a monster." Something touched the flat of his hand, and he twitched despite himself. "But I think you might be wrong. I don't think you met any monster. I think that you _are_ the monster."

Venom seeped from those words. There was an energy that he could feel now - something he didn’t quite like. It was hard to put into words, but it carried a certain electricity that put him on edge.

“Just tell me what you want already. No need for the theatrics.”

Even his own confidence felt stale, overshadowed by the bristle of whatever energy had overtaken the man. 

No answer was given, not at first. There was just a silent waver as Peter listened to his own breathing, the heavy swallow of his throat. Even without daring to look, this person carried such an overwhelming presence he thought he might suffocate.

“What I want…”

Something was fastened tightly around Peter's wrist and his eyes opened, an anxious tremor shooting down his spine. He immediately regretted it, the flash of white bursting in his pupils once again. Closer, this time. But there was a prickle against his skin - something tapping, slowly, to a casual rhythm. 

“You're a monster I'm very interested in. Someone I've been looking for for quite a while now. Schwarz...your reputation precedes you. There’s quite a number of killings to your name, aren’t there? Though, not always under Peter Schwarz. You’ve used other names. Still, the technique is unmistakable. You’re a pro, after all. It’s never a sloppy job. But unfortunately, that works against you. It means that someone like myself can find you. I’ve had quite a bit of fun, hunting you down. And now, I finally have you.” 

Hunting. This guy...this guy made it sound like he was prey. Peter set his jaw, trying to focus on the intermittent touches from that _thing._ Scissors? A knife? It wouldn’t be the first time Peter suffered for being a little careless. But as long as he could hold his ground until the guys figured out where he was, it didn’t matter. 

“I owe you money or something? If that’s it then just hold on before you do something stupid. I got a job I’m finishing up here and I can pay up after. Got it? So….”

“Even if you owed me money, I don’t think you could pay me. I think you’re in the hole.”

It was hard to make much out of the man’s expression when he kept flicking that flashlight in Peter’s face. And the way he talked was very even - a good way not to give any sort of tells. Was he angry? Amused? He gave nothing away for Peter to make any guesses. But his dialogue seemed to indicate he’d been doing his research. Well...and he’d said this was a “hunt”, so it made some sense.

“You’re a little desperate, aren’t you? And that’s why you’ve been taking such cheap jobs lately. Nothing at all like _that_ one. In that quiet little town. The bloodbath. A place teeming with monsters.”

Town…. _that_ town…

All at once Peter felt cold. Shivers rippled down his spine, a sort of understanding starting to set in. This person...knew. He knew. If that was the case, then…

“I was almost killed there, by a different monster. I wasn't able to help my friend. Even the doctor, for all his skill, couldn't save that man. I thought that was the end of it, but _you_ appeared on my radar by chance. I'm very glad that you did.”

At once, the idle tapping sensation was gone. He felt nothing, for a short while, except for the bindings that held him fast. Something was coming, though. Something that was going to hurt. Some sort of cloth was shoved in his mouth, something to keep him from speaking. Or shouting. Something to muffle him. Peter felt his heart start racing. He…

He was afraid.

* * *

Heinrich was quick; the blinding light was set aside, and the first of his tools retrieved: a woodworking hammer, a simple common appliance that, now, had another use. For but a moment he hovered it over Schwarz’ wrist, listening to the muffled noises of protest he made. He had no room to spare pity to the man.

Heinrich brought the hammer down quickly and heavily on the man’s hand. The crunch was loud, the scream louder - though muted by his gag. But he wasn’t done, not anywhere near to it; next, he took the blunt of the hammer to the fragile knuckles of each finger. The bones in the human hand were terribly fragile, for how important their function was. 

Heinrich shattered each finger on each hand. Schwarz would never hold a gun again with those hands, would never take another precious life. But it wasn’t enough to take away that man’s weapons, to punish him. There was _something_ , a monster of his own that was bubbling inside Heinrich. A creature that he hadn’t known before. It felt like rage, like pain, like loss, like euphoria all at once. And with each drop of the hammer, with the crunch of that man’s hands and the tears that stained his face, that monster only grew.

He knew what it was, of course; most could control it, had years and years to battle their passions and learn to coexist with them. Heinrich had lived so long burying his that now, given any semblance of freedom, he had no control to keep them at bay. Here, now, he had no _desire_ to keep them at bay. He could smell Schwarz’ blood. It only enticed him more.

He wouldn’t kill Schwarz. That was what he said, what the BKA Detective said. But that man was gone, replaced by something ugly that lived deeper within. He had no restraint, no control; his darkest emotions now puppeted his hands. Schwarz would know the pain that he felt; that they all had felt. With each scream, each squelch of flesh, he was only driven further toward the edge.

Heinrich dropped the hammer to the ground, breathing slowly as he stared the man down. For one who had stolen so many innocent lives - had stolen _his_ among them - he was so terribly fragile, begging and weeping and filthy. He sought mercy in the wrong places.

Heinrich gripped the vile man by the jaw, crushing hard as he tore away the rag that muffled his shrieks. Even liberated Schwarz couldn’t utter a single word, the sounds coming through as piteous sobs that deserved no sympathy. 

"What you're feeling right now...it hurts, doesn't it? The man you killed suffered something like this. But he was much stronger than you are. You want to beg, don't you? You want to beg for your life. He would never. He endures."

There was another sound, another sob. The man fought to pull his face away from Lunge's grip, prompting the man to tighten his grasp. His gaze bore deep into his wide and wild eyes, dissecting his prey, looking for something in those terrified depths. Heinrich shook his head, minor disappointment crossing his face. What he was looking for still wasn't there. But it would be, soon enough.

He took another tool in hand, this time a light pair of pliers. Light, but they would suit him well enough. The human body was fragile in the hands of those who knew how to inflict pain. Heinrich held his prey firm, bringing the jaws of the pliers toward the man’s mouth. Sounds of protest broke into sobbing whines, though Heinrich paid them no heed as he gripped at the first tooth. 

There was a gasping hiss, something terrified that died in his throat. Heinrich began wriggling the pliers around. He could feel the bone rocking lightly in its place, already loose in Schwarz’ mouth. With an abrupt thrust of his arm, the bone ripped free completely. Heinrich didn't waste a moment, moving systematically to the next.

Three. Then four.

The man was choking on blood, trying more and more desperately to escape Heinrich despite his predicament. He put the whole of his body into it, trying somehow, wildly, to free himself. To his credit, he did manage to rock sideways, falling to the ground with a heavy thud.

Heinrich simply looked down at him, staring as his prey tried to right himself, twisting and choking and weeping pitifully. When Heinrich moved his head snapped forward, looking far, far up to where Heinrich loomed over him. There was something about that look in his eyes - something satisfying that made Heinrich stop and simply watch. 

The fear in the eyes of his prey was irresistible. He drowned himself in it, watching the man's resolve crumble and crack under pressure. That was the look, what he'd been waiting for. A look that spelled ultimate terror, a fear so potent it dwarfed the man's sense of awareness.

There was a click as Heinrich finally, finally raised a gun to the man, the muzzle resting easily between his eyes. All it would take was a twitch of his finger. Just that and he would be no more. The hunt would come to an end. How he _itched_ for it. 

But...

There was something that stopped him. Something that made him hesitate. A hand that wasn't there gripped his arm, held him back. A voice that _couldn't_ be there told him not to become a monster, to be better. It sounded as gentle as he remembered it.

How much had Grimmer endured? Since those mysterious days of his childhood, his adult life...he was marred by pain, wounded by people around him, yet he never transformed into a monster. He had done everything in his power _not_ to be the monster the world had shaped inside him.

Grimmer was far stronger than Heinrich could ever hope to be. But perhaps, at least in this moment...

Were he to become a monster now, Heinrich knew he couldn't face Grimmer. If only for that, if only for him, he would let his rage die. He would not become Grimmer's monster. 

He lowered his gun, let it slip from his hands. Heard it clatter to the ground as he stared sharply at his p...at the criminal in his custody. Heinrich Lunge was not a predator to his prey, not a hunter of monsters, but a skilled detective apprehending a criminal wanted for multiple homicides.

“I won’t kill you.” he murmured, looking down on the disfigured, bloody man. “I'm going to take you in for your innumerable heinous crimes. You'll remember this pain as you live out a lengthy sentence in-”

The clang of a door. Thundering footsteps. And... 

_BANG._

Heinrich heard the loud ring of a gunshot.

It took his body a few moments to recognize that he was the one who had been struck.

There was a heavy thud of footsteps again and Heinrich turned, still in a daze. His mind was sluggish as awareness faded in and out, slowly acknowledging events around him; the sudden sharpness of pain, the realization that he was no longer standing.

It was too late to reach for a weapon, to try to defend himself. He saw his gun, tried to reach for it, heard it clatter away. Something heavy cracked into his spine from behind, knocking the wind out of him. And then there was something sharp in his side. He counted each time his flesh burned. One. Two. Three times. On the third there was a twist. Someone was saying something above him, but he didn't understand.

So, the monster's colleagues had come for him. They had found him somehow...and Heinrich…

He was probably going to die.

He felt a boot collide with his stomach. Then again, a little higher. They had him down; now they were taking their time with him. He'd gotten too focused on his immediate surroundings, didn't notice when the ambush began. Now he was the one facing death.

"Let him really _feel_ it."

The voice was snide, but Heinrich only caught half of what was said. He felt as his head was lifted, managing to focus on the face leering down on him. Even then he couldn't make out details. Only that he knew that face, probably from the files sitting on his office desk.

"This is what happens to cops who get nosy. But it's okay, you won't last much longer."

That wasn't just a boast or a threat; Heinrich knew he was losing too much blood. He felt a smile quirk at his lips as he coughed, managing with one last bout of energy to lurch forward, biting down on the unsuspecting man's nose.

At the very least, he could put up a fight. He wouldn't have any regrets that way. There were sounds all around - in front of him, the man shoving Lunge away. He tasted blood, could only assume he had managed to do some damage to his assailant. He felt himself being lifted, then something colliding with his chest. He heard shouting - more shooting, more yelling. Falling. His name. A gunshot.

He could feel it coming, now. Soon. He wasn't long for the world.

And then, when he died, he could finally...

_We'll have that drink. Properly._

* * *

Tenma...didn’t know what to say.

It was a chilling story. Schwarz...one of the men that had mortally wounded Grimmer...was still around. The same person who had hunted through the town, putting everyone’s lives - even the children - at risk. Those children in Ruehenheim...they were badly scarred by what had happened. The very thought of it still made his stomach churn.

But Lunge’s confession, just now…

If it weren’t for the unexpected intervention...would he really have stopped? Or would he…

Lunge had assured him that he wouldn’t kill. That he was a man of the law. But to go so far, so _violently_ , led the doctor to his doubts. He wanted to believe in the inspector, but there was something _wrong_ about the image. That man, usually so cold and calculating…

“Suk...saved you, then. Found you there. Is that right?”

There was a quiet moment then, Lunge closing his eyes. He shook his head.

“I don’t remember it well. Only that I heard my name. Gunshots. I suspect he was using me to keep an eye on Schwarz himself and was alerted to the situation. Intervened when he realized what was happening. And afterward...”

Lunge went silent, the moment stretching on as he wracked his brain, finally coming up blank with another shake of his head.

“I can’t recall anything beyond that point. I imagine I was delirious and barely aware of myself, let alone of him.”

There was an honest sound to his voice, and Tenma had no reason to doubt it. Those wounds of his, the blood loss...he was probably running on empty for quite a while. Whatever may have transpired was probably lost to the exhausted void of his mind. 

By now, though, Tenma could place his guesses. Lunge hadn’t told the boy everything, but Suk...over time he’d grown sharper, cleverer than before. Piecing together that Lunge had bitten off more than he could chew wasn’t surprising. He braved danger to save the BKA Detective. Managed to escape with only minimal injury. Tenma heaved a sigh.

“You realize that you could have died. That you could have gotten Suk killed along with you. How _reckless_ can you be? Grimmer…”

Tenma looked away, looked down. He could feel it, the pang of something lonely. 

“I know how painful it is. He was my friend, too. What happened was hard for everyone. But do you really think that...do you really think he would want this? That any of us…”

Tenma trailed off, unsure of what more to say. Lunge didn’t answer. He was looking at his hand, absent, silent. Tenma balled one hand into a fist.

“It was over. The killing was done. It was supposed to be buried with him. No more bodies. If you had come here any later...if Suk hadn’t found you...you…”

Tenma stopped, able to hear the crackle in his own voice, feel it burning in his chest. Lunge knew of course, as well as he did; any later and he _would_ have died. And to Tenma...that was more than he could bear. They weren’t friends, not really. Acquaintances was a better term...and deeply intertwined that they were, he still cared for this man. To lose him, or _anyone_ as they all had lost Grimmer, was just something he refused to accept.

There was a rustle beside him, a low breath of a sigh. Tenma glanced toward Lunge, expectant. Still he said nothing. Whatever this was... _all_ of this...it felt strange. Lunge was reckless, that was certain. But he was clever; he was a meticulous planner, knew his enemy's next move well in advance. What he'd described, just now, wasn't an act of the distant and methodical Lunge, but of someone burdened with immense and deep passion, unbridled emotion.

Even looking his way now, something was _off._ The man looked troubled, staring at his hand. Finally, though, he turned his gaze toward Tenma; sharper, more precise than before.

“I was prepared to die, if it came to that.”

There was something about those words that struck Tenma. Something odd about them. They didn’t feel _final;_ it wasn’t a desire to die, but an acceptance of consequence. Lunge...didn’t want to die. But to have his moment, to see Grimmer’s killer punished, he was willing to accept the risk. He was _that_ desperate to taste revenge. For Grimmer…

“Lunge, you…”

Tenma’s voice was wispy. He watched as Lunge looked away again, caught the distance in his eyes. Distance, and something else. They were rarely this close, this near in proximity, for him to get any kind of reading on Lunge's expression. But the one he wore now was lonely. It was sad.

Tenma...didn’t know what to say.

Empty of words, the moment was lost to him. All he could do was watch as pieces clicked into place. Lunge...didn’t express his feelings in nearly the same way as Tenma, or Eva, or Suk...his came differently; his actions, his focus, the things he would _do_ for a person. Just how much he was willing to give for Grimmer’s sake...

“I’d like to ask a favor.”

Tenma tried not to flinch at the unexpectedness of Lunge’s voice, managing to catch himself with a nod. Steely eyes pierced his own, once again seeming to fill with an endless cold, the barricade he wore.

“When I’m well enough, I’d like you to take me there. He should know what’s happened.”

There was an exhaustion to those words that settled on the man's shoulders, drooping in his eyelids. Now that it was over...Lunge was tired. And now, he could finally rest.

Tenma nodded firmly. “I think that’s a reasonable request.” he murmured, his tone almost a little distantly fond. “I think it would make him happy, to hear it from you.”

There was a questioning flick of eyes in his direction, though just as quickly the moment was gone. Lunge closed his eyes and bowed his head forward; tired, content. Tenma could only imagine how much was going on behind that mind; all the things he wanted to say, to tell Grimmer. It was bittersweet, but this was probably good for him. Healing. It meant finally putting Ruehenheim in the past. And finally...finally giving Grimmer peace. Tenma stood, glancing over his shoulder as he left.

"I imagine that Suk might have a little more to tell me about what happened. I'd like to hear this from his perspective, too. For now, I want you to just rest. The more you rest, the sooner you'll heal. The sooner you'll be able to see him."

The smile that Lunge fixed him with was small. Terribly small, but even behind such a subtle expression, Tenma could read the swell of sadness that dwelled there. Now that it was over, now that rage had no place, there was only empty loneliness in Grimmer's absence. Tenma had long endured it, had come to live with it. Lunge only now, finally, felt its pangs.

He would allow the man to bear his grief in private.

**Author's Note:**

> YIKES.....I hope it was alright,, I definitely do struggle where writing actual graphic violence is concerned, lmao. I don't really watch a whole lot of torture-y shows so my frame of reference is a bit limited and tbh I don't feel like watching/reading scenes to get that reference!!!!! But I did my best with what I got.
> 
> The teeth thing was a specific request and definitely where I didn't know what I was doing the most XD
> 
> Hatch if you're reading this. <3 u


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